


Telling Her

by greenery



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Revelations, F/M, First Kiss, Love Confessions, One Shot, kind of but not really, one (1) idiot in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 20:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenery/pseuds/greenery
Summary: Alarmed by Ezio's idleness, Yusuf urges him to finally confess his feelings to Sofia. Ezio obliges reluctantly.





	Telling Her

 

> _Excellent news, Claudia. I now have a name: Manuel Palaiologos, nephew of the deposed Byzantine Emperor Constantine. I have few doubts that he is the man leading the Templars. My task now is to interrogate a traitorous Janissary named Tarik Barleti, and find the location of the Templar's army. Until then, Sofia and I shall continue our search for the one key that remains hidden. With every passing moment, I know my chances grow slimmer, and yet I cannot help but linger some days to stay an extra hour with her, to hear her voice and watch her face animate with joy as she speaks of the things that—_

“You should tell her.”

The unexpected sound of a voice right behind his back made Ezio flinch and smear the last paragraph of his carefully written letter.

“ _Merda!_ And you should keep your nose out of your mentor’s private affairs!”

He turned around in his chair to cast a grim look at Yusuf, who merely shrugged and grinned in response. “I know, I know. But I couldn’t help it, I was too curious. You spend so much time writing these letters, and yet you never receive a reply.”

“It is important to keep my sister in Roma informed about my progress here.”

Why did he justify himself? It really was none of Yusuf’s concern.

“As for the lack of replies,” he went on, “Claudia probably has more pressing matters on her mind than my writings. I hear Pope Julius has fallen ill.”

“And?”

“He has been on our side for some time now, and his death would lead to a massive shift of power in Italy. But I don’t know why that would trouble you, Yusuf.”

Yusuf pulled a chair close and sat down, still facing Ezio.

“It doesn’t,” he said with a slight grin, “What troubles me is that my mentor seems to be quite distracted from his actual work here in Istanbul, and for that I blame a certain Venetian bookseller.”

“Ah, _stai zitto_ ,” grumbled Ezio, but Yusuf was right of course. He hadn’t made any noteworthy progress with the Masyaf Keys for several days now; in fact he had spent most of his time brooding over the keys he had already acquired instead of finally searching for the last one. This unfruitful behaviour provided him with the perfect opportunity to appear occupied, when he was actually mainly musing about Sofia. He hadn’t felt this awed —and honestly, dumbstruck— since that first night with Leonardo in Venezia.

Sofia was beautiful, of course, and she was insanely intelligent and passionate and bright. Her warm, familiar accent made him think of home, and so did her gestures, her whole bearing. Come to think of it, she actually reminded him quite a lot of Leonardo… No, that chapter of his life was over, and by mutual agreement.

Still, like Yusuf said, it could not go on like this. A great responsibility had been placed on his shoulders, and yet he sat here, swooning, feeling like he was sixteen again and desperately trying to woo Cristina Vespucci, so far to little avail.

Yusuf tore him from his thoughts. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there seems to be some … unresolved tension between you and Sofia Sartor.”

Ezio wanted to bury his head in his hands or at least hide under his hood, but his pride wouldn’t allow such signs of weakness in front of Yusuf, and all just because of a woman. Granted, quite an extraordinary woman.

“You are not wrong,” he said finally, closely inspecting the Persian carpet underneath his desk. The air in the headquarter’s small library was definitely more stuffy than five minutes ago and heat was rising to his cheeks. Someone really ought to do something about the ventilation system.

Yusuf sighed, stood up and turned to go. “I stand by what I said. You should tell her,” he said over his shoulder.

“That is easy for you to say.” Ezio was now fiddling with one of the Masyaf Keys. He had never noticed how intricately the softly glowing, golden details in the stone disk were carved out. Truly a work of art.

By the sound of his voice, Yusuf seemed to have turned around again. “Listen, _arkadaşım_ , I have a brotherhood to run, and you have a task to complete. I don’t want to rush you, but this behaviour isn’t getting you anywhere. If you are not going to tell her, I will.”

Ezio looked up, still holding the key in his right. “You wouldn’t,” he exclaimed, “You wouldn’t dare. And besides, you don’t have the time.”

“Right,” Yusuf’s lips curved into his wolfish grin again, “I really don’t have the time. I guess I will send one of the recruits then. Latife Seher maybe? I hear she is very capable. Unlike you, coward.”

Ezio jumped to his feet and put his hood on. “Alright, alright, I’m doing it. Just leave me be, and don’t send a warden after me, for heaven’s sake. If I spot just one assassin on some rooftop or in a haystack—”

“That’s the spirit!” Yusuf laughed and jovially patted him on the shoulder. “I await your report.”

“ _Fottiti_ ,” growled Ezio and stormed out of the library.

The den was quiet, only a few recruits lounged on the cushions on the floor, studying and taking in the last daylight that flowed through the rooflights. The air was filled with the ligneous smell of incense. The picture was idyllic, and as Ezio made his way to the door, a Peace be upon you, Mentor! thrown after him by one of the recruits, probably Latife, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly fond of the brotherhood here in Istanbul. What Yusuf and his predecessors had built up was not only a strong and close-knit community, but also a reminder to all the other Assassin brotherhoods in the world to not lose themselves in their grim profession. The recruits he trained here were always light-hearted, happy even, and they never seemed to forget about their evening gatherings, including a cup of _çay_ for everyone. True, Ezio missed his second family in Roma, their seriousness, and also their laughter and silly stories, but he could already sense the emptiness inside him that would inevitably come with leaving Constantinopoli behind.

With a sigh, he opened the door and stepped outside. Despite the impending dawn, the street was as lively as ever, if not more so. Merchants were loudly offering their goods and prostitutes themselves, cicadas chirped, and above everything hung the constant background noise of people chatting in various languages. Cursing under his breath, he began to make his way through the crowds. _Dannazione_ , taking the tunnel system would have been a lot easier and quicker. As he neared the bazaar, more and more merchants approached him from every side.

“Some flowers for your lady?”

“ _Vino dolce_ , all the way from Italia!”

“You look like you could use new garments, _efendim_. Or maybe a cape?”

He ignored the nuisances with the countenance of someone who has been used to them from an early age. Although, he pondered, nothing spoke against a small gift for Sofia. But what could he get her? Flowers were too ordinary. Perfume? But he might not meet her taste at all. A book, perhaps. After all, their entire relationship so far seemed to be based upon books. Chances were that she already owned whatever book he picked out for her, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

He stopped by the stall of the next bookseller, an old lady, clad in a variety of colourful fabrics and scarfs.

“What can I get you, _efendim_?”

Ezio thought for a moment. “I don’t know exactly. Something rare would be good.”

“Is it a gift?”

“ _Sí_ , and she owns a bookshop, so she probably already owns everything you have to offer.”

“Not so fast, young man,” said the woman and disappeared under her wooden table, before emerging again after a few seconds, triumphantly presenting a small book. It was bound in dark-red leather and looked somewhat plain.

“What is that?”

“The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer. It’s a shortened version of the very first printed edition, from 1476. It was printed by William Caxton, who, by the way, was the first man to introduce a printing press—“

“ _Bene_. I take it.” Ezio had no idea what she was talking about, but the book sounded rare enough to him.

He paid an unreasonable amount of money and continued his way to the bookshop. The streets were still incredibly crowded, the air still thick and warm. He knew that the air up on the rooftops was better, and that he would be faster, but he somehow didn’t feel like running from or killing guards right now. The evening was too calm, too peaceful. And besides, it wouldn’t exactly make for a good impression to appear on Sofia’s doorstep with blood dripping from his robes.

The little piazza in front of the bookshop was almost deserted when he reached it. A few men sat next to the tunnel entrance in the middle of the square and smoked, and a few metres behind them, Sofia was preparing her shop for the night, carrying books inside and closing the window shutters.

Ezio took a deep breath. “ _Salve_ , Sofia.”

She turned around in surprise and almost immediately a bright smile lit up her face.

“Ezio! _Che sorpresa_! What are you doing here? Do you have something for me to decipher?”

“Not at all,” he said, “I simply felt like paying you a visit. Some company.”

She laughed. “Don’t you have enough company with your … what was it? Band of Brothers?”

Ezio already regretted having told her about the brotherhood. Although she didn’t seem to take the knowledge too seriously, it could get her into grave danger, and it would be his, and only his fault. He had always been good at bringing death and despair to those he cherished most, and he didn’t know if he could bear another loss.

“ _Sì_ , but seeing the same faces every night can get dull. I am looking for some variety.”

“Is that so?” She made a gesture into the shop. “In that case I invite you into my humble home.”

Not much had changed since he’d last been here. The shelves in the salesroom were still bursting with books of all shapes and sizes and an occasional parchment scroll. Books were stacked on the floor and stored in built-in nooks right under the high ceiling, where no one could possibly see, let alone reach them. In a corner, the fireplace was crackling and, like his recruits, Sofia was burning incense. The smell lingered heavy in the room, but over the past few weeks, Ezio had come to savour it.

“Excuse the mess,” said Sofia as she led him past her two desks, around a corner and into the back room, their steps muffled by numerous carpets on the floor. “I have been quite busy, which is a good thing, of course, but I haven’t had much time to keep everything tidy.” She pointed to two cushioned chairs next to a table. “Please, make yourself comfortable. _Çay?_ ”

Ezio settled down in one of the chairs. “ _Grazie_. I like the mess. It reminds me of an old friend of mine.”

“Who?” she asked over the rattling of kettle and cups. “You probably don’t know him. Leonardo da Vinci.”

“ _Don’t know him_? Of course I know him!” She placed two steaming ceramic cups on the table between them. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Ezio. Although I cannot say I am very familiar with his work. It is a shame he never publishes anything.”

“Trust me, I have have told him that more than once.”

She sat down on the other side of the table and sipped on her tea. “Then how did you two meet?”

“That is a long and dark story. Far too dark for a night as beautiful as this one.”

She raised her eyebrows. “If you are trying to make yourself appear more mysterious, messere, it is neither possible nor necessary. You are a complete riddle to me.”

“Dare to solve it?”

“ _Buffone_.”

“It was worth a try, no?”

She turned her head as if to hide a smile, but said nothing.

“Sofia, I have brought you something.”

“Oh? Some of Leonardo’s writings, I hope?”

“Not exactly, but a pretty good guess.” He produced the book from an inside pocket.

“Is that—”

“The Canterbury Tales, _sí_.”

She practically tore the book from his fingers and began to flick through the pages with slightly shaking hands. “No way. Where did you get this?”

“Let’s just say I have my methods.”

She cast him a disapproving look, but her gaze returned to the book on the table almost immediately. Why couldn’t he just tell her the truth for once? There was no shame in simply having bought the book, and yet he seemed determined to become entangled in a web of lies and deceptions, only for the sake of making himself more attractive to her. He knew that Sofia was far too smart to fall for that, and now she punished his arrogance with silence, except for an occasional muttered _Incredibile!_ when she came across an especially beautiful page.

Ezio watched her for a while, her practised, yet careful hands turning the pages, the auburn hair falling over her left shoulder in thick waves, her eyes alight with passion and completely lost in the England of the 14th Century. The warm candlelight created flickering shadows on her skin and that green dress she loved so much.

God, what would he give to touch her right now, to gather his courage and reach out for her, maybe caress her cheek and play with her hair. Then they would kiss and she would lead him upstairs to her bed, and in a few months they would marry and move back to Italy and open a small but renowned bookshop in Firenze. And he would finally leave the Brotherhood completely to Machiavelli or Claudia, and they would have four children, and he would watch them grow up between bookshelves and a vineyard, maybe. And Sofia would be there to hold him at night, when the nightmares would be bad again, and he’d hold her whenever she wanted him to.

No, he should stop imagining a future that would never happen.

But how, when it was so easy, and felt so right?

“Ezio? Ezio!”

“ _Scusa?_ ”

“Goodness, you looked miles away. Where were your thoughts wandering?” Sofia had closed the book and emptied her tea. Ezio risked a guilty look at his own, still full cup.

“Oh it’s nothing, I’m just tired,” he attempted to explain and took a sip from his cup, but lukewarm _çay_ just wasn’t the same. “Hmm, the tea is delicious!”

Sofia chuckled. “Liar. Do you want me to prepare you a new cup?”

“No, _grazie_. I’m sorry, my mind just trailed off a little.”

“Yes, I could see that. Important secret business matters?”

He was grateful for the suggestion. “ _Sí_ , everything is quite busy at the moment. But I did not come here to talk about work.”

He could see Yusuf’s smug face before his eyes and hear his voice reminding him of the only reason he came here tonight: _You should tell her_.

But tell her what? That he wanted to take her right now, right here on the table that currently seperated them? That he hadn’t felt like this in years? That he was old and weary, and the mere thought of having to spend the rest of his life alone terrified him more than anything?

“Sofia,” he said finally, fiddling with his now half-empty cup, “I just wanted to thank you for—”

“Nonsense, Ezio! I have to thank you. My life has never been this exciting - all the books and the deciphering. It almost feels like I have waited for this chance all my life. Thank you for letting me be a part of this adventure.”

 _Merda_. How could this be so difficult?

“Oh, and thank you for the book, of course,” she continued as she went around the room to light up more candles and oil lamps to fight the impending darkness. “I have been looking for this exact version for years. How did you know? No, wait, I probably don’t want to know.”

“Sofia, I—” he began again, but his voice sounded strange and caused Sofia to spin around and face him. He could only imagine the pained expression on his face, but it was certainly enough to make her come over and put a hand on his forehead. The unexpected touch sent a shiver down his spine.

“Are you alright? Do you not feel well?” she asked as she proceeded to feel his forehead and then his blushing cheeks. “You are quite hot. Do you feel feverish?”

“A little, _sí_.” It was not a lie.

“You should take that hood off. Let your head get some air from time to time,” she said and disappeared through the archway that lead to the garden-like room where he had found the entrance to the cistern a few weeks ago.

“Come to the garden,” he heard her call, “the air is a bit ccoler here.”

He didn’t object, how could he, and as he entered the room, he was for a second taken aback by its beauty. The first time here, he had been so focused on the cistern that he had barely noticed the brightly coloured scarfs and carpets that hung from the open ceiling, or the intricate oil lamps, or the numerous cushions on the floor. There were also plants everywhere, in pots on the ground and benches, and dangling from the ceiling and stone walls. Garden was an appropriate name, after all.

“Quite a sight, no?” Sofia laughed. “I come here as often as I can, it is a blessing to have such a nice little space attached directly to the house.”

“Indeed,” Ezio stammered, and didn’t know what else to say. She was right, the small garden was quite a sight, and the muffled street noises and bird songs that made their way through the latticed windows only added to the impression of having found a safe and secret oasis in the middle of the desert.

Sofia looked around and let out a sigh. “Can you believe my parents planned on leaving all this behind, only to move to Venezia? I mean, it’s not as if we had a choice, really, but Venezia? Have you ever been there?”

“I lived there for a while, yes.”

“Good, then you know what it’s like. Narrow and tiny. So hot in the summer. And the smell, _disgustoso!_ ”

“ _Sí_ , I remember the stench,” said Ezio. And he did. The summer months had been the worst. He had rather fought fifteen guards at once than to escape through the canals, although that would have been much easier. But once the water touched any kind of clothing, the rotten smell seemed to fuse with the fabric and it was nearly impossible to get it out again. Yes, he remembered. He had enjoyed Venezia, which was mainly due to Leonardo, but he had never felt at home there.

This right here was different. Maybe they wouldn’t open a bookshop in Firenze, after all, maybe they’d just stay here. Read each other stories by the fire at night. Occasionally, Yusuf would pay them a visit, and he’d say in that mocking tone of his: _Remember when I convinced you to tell her?_ And they’d have a drink and laugh about Ezio’s incompetence together.

_Do it, coward!_

Sofia was standing very close now, and illuminated by both the warm fire shine and the blue of the fading daylight, she looked almost otherworldly. She moved even closer and reached out for his forehead again. “Let me feel your temperature.”

He bowed slightly down to her. His throat was suddenly painfully dry and his voice sounded coarse. “Sofia, can I ki—”

But her lips were already on his and her arms thrown around his neck, pulling him in closer, before parting again after a few seconds.

 _See?_ Ezio could hear Yusuf’s voice again. _That wasn’t so hard, was it?_

 _Yes, because I didn’t do anything, idiot_.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief washing over him, loosening up his whole body. All his worries had been irrelevant and silly, the countless sleepless nights unneeded. Sofia’s lips curled into a gentle smile as she looked at him, her arms resting on his shoulders, and when she pushed his hood back, he couldn’t help but return a sheepish grin.

Her hands found his face, and as she stroked his beard, her left thumb came across the scar that cut through his lips.

“How did you get this?”

“That is a—“ “Long and dark story?”

“ _Sí_ , and also far too dark for a night as beautiful as this one. Actually, it overlaps with how I met Leonardo.”

“Oh? Well, we have all night.”

Without a second thought, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, planting a kiss on her forehead, before he buried his face in her hair. The smell of leather and incense and flowers was beguiling and didn’t do much to calm his racing heart. He gently kissed her neck a few times, beard scratching over smooth skin, and felt a shudder running through her body when his lips moved against her ear. “Forgive me, Sofia, but for some reason I don’t feel like talking at all.”

She let out a little chuckling sound that made his breath falter. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Considering this was Sofia, the answer was probably yes.

She placed both hands on his chest and gently pushed him away again to take a long and thorough look at his face. Ezio wondered what she saw in him – an exciting stranger from a foreign land that was supposed to be her home? An old man in desperate search for some company? Apparently, the same questions went through her mind.

“Who are you, Ezio Auditore?” she asked, brow furrowed ever so slightly, as they stood like this for a little while, an arm’s length apart and simply taking each other in.

God, he couldn’t take his eyes off her lips.

And this time it was him who went in first, head bent slightly, and cupping her face with his hands, pulling her upwards just a little bit and closer at the same time, to close what little space remained between them. He could feel her smile against his lips and taste a hint of _çay_.

Not breaking the kiss, he moved his hands downward, over her heaving breast, and coming to a halt at the corset lacing. He tried to unfasten the tightly bound strings and cords, but without looking, this proved to be nearly impossible. They broke apart, cheeks flushed, both breathing heavily and unwilling to part completely, finally opting for resting their foreheads together instead.

Sofia clasped Ezio’s fumbling hands and pressed them against her chest for a second. “Not here,” she murmured into his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Not here,” she said softly, “the walls have eyes and I have a bed upstairs.” Ezio didn’t object when she took his left hand and led him through the archway, back into the bookshop’s welcoming warmth.


End file.
